


Blatant

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-13
Updated: 2010-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:09:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Tell me you've missed me.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Blatant

**Author's Note:**

> A bounce off from ^ line from viceindustrious's fic, [Leviathon](http://viceindustrious.livejournal.com/3755.html). Not set within that scene, just playing with the some of the ideas presented.

_Tell me you've missed me_, Coward says, teasingly, except- he's not teasing, not really, because he wants to hear it; sometimes, he thinks he can see it, in the way Henry looks at him after he's been away, looks and looks when he think Coward won't notice. That he can tell, that it's coded in the barest touch at his wrist, that it's embedded in the whirls of Henry's fingertips, tantalizingly hidden but there, there, always there. He thinks it's there, but he wants it to be there, and thus he cannot be _sure_.

Henry says nothing; the moment stretches on and on, and Coward, still smiling, stretched too tightly across his face but never slipping, whispers, _Tell me you've missed me_, and he hopes that Henry can't hear the plaintive edge to his words as Coward does. He wants to hear it said, hear Henry admit to missing Coward as much as Coward missed him, to missing him enough to say it even when they never say such things.

Still, still, Henry says nothing, and Coward closes his eyes, twists his smile wry, because that makes it a joke, makes it a test; a test for Henry, to see if he will give in, to see what he will tolerate, to see if he will indulge Coward in his fancies. It's best that he doesn't, because Coward needs restraint to keep him focused. Needs something to focus on so he doesn't spin out all his thoughts on things as meaningless as parties and debauchery and amusement.

Only it's not a test for Henry; it's a test for himself, and he has failed it dismally. Has given up his fragile self control and asked, has given lie to the trust Henry has placed in him and asked, asked for something he can't have; for something Henry can't give him, even if he wanted, and Coward is quite sure now that he never wanted to.

It's best that Henry won't indulge him, because he might have believed it.

*

_Tell me you've missed me_, Daniel says, and Blackwood is too taken aback to say anything. Is stunned that Daniel would ask such a thing – that he would voice such a thought – that he would _need_ to. Can't Daniel see it? See it in every action Blackwood takes? In every look that he can't break off quickly enough, in every touch that lingers, that turns stroking, that turns needy and questioning? Can't see how terribly important he has become, how indispensable, how addicting? To say something as simple and stark and revealing as _yes_ cannot even begin to convey the endless ache within him when there is no brilliant eyed, burningly intent young man at his side.

He'd never realized what he could lose before he came to know Daniel; _Tell me you've missed me_, Daniel whispers, again, and Blackwood says nothing, because- because if Daniel has to ask- if he can't see it, can't see what's stealing out of Blackwood despite his best efforts- if he can't see that, maybe there's a reason. Maybe he's not looking at things with the same clarity of sight that Blackwood is, that here is someone he loves and who loves him back, and so of course he was missed – how could he not be? How could he need reassurance? Is it not plain as daylight? Is there anyone else he treats as he does Daniel, and is that not enough of a sign?

Maybe there's something wrong here, something Blackwood's not seeing; maybe he'll be the one hurt most if he tells Daniel no. Thinks that maybe what Daniel wanted to hear was _no_, was _of course not_, was something distancing and practical and placing all the uneven lines of this relationship back in their proper places, as if they could ever go back.

It's best that Henry won't indulge him, because he might have believed it.


End file.
